


Depression is a Little Like Happy Hour

by Megalomaniacal



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Ableist Language, Anorexia, Anxiety, Child Neglect, Depression, Eating Disorders, Hospitalization, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Other, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megalomaniacal/pseuds/Megalomaniacal
Summary: In which Dennis, Mac, and Charlie meet after being hospitalized in their teens and not from going to the same high school.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Spotlight by my man p stump
> 
> Okay no one attack me for this one I've been in an emergency room and a mental hospital I actually KNOW how this shit works okay  
> Also warning for the R slur because Dee and Dennis used it in the show and would probably use it here too

When Dennis was reported and sent to the emergency room, Barbara was so dissapointed in him that she'd refused to pay for anything that wasn't fully covered by insurance. She didn't even visit him, just talked to some of the nurses over the phone as he sat alone on a thin mattress in a doorless, white, all too brightly lit room. His thin fingers were fisted in the thin blanket covering the mattress, staring down at his hands. 

"Dennis Reynolds?" A bored voice interrupted any thoughts he may have been having. He looked up at the female nurse looking down at him, her arms crossed over her chest, a cart full of weird stuff in front of her. "We have to take your vitals, okay?"

He nodded slowly. He was out of his comfort zone. He didn't say a word as she wrapped a cuff around his arm, watching the tiny meter to get his blood pressure. He didn't even wince when she pushed a needle into his arm, slowly filling a few small vials with his blood. He looked away when she put on a bandage, blocking out the rest of the stuff she said. 

It was a lot more depressing in that stupid white room than it had been outside of it. 

Someone had reported him. Someone had told a counselor or some shit that he wasn't eating, that he was threatening other people with violence. They weren't wrong, but Dennis couldn't see why the hell it had caused police to come whisk him off to the goddamn emergency room where he couldn't even wear his own socks. 

The first thing they'd made him do was change into some ugly green clothes, a shirt and pants that felt as if they were made from a sack. He couldn't even wear his fucking socks. That really pissed him off, having to change into the thin, prickly socks that were too big for his feet. It all was too big for him, really, hanging off his body. 

He was tugging at the shirt, trying to make it fit better when another lady came in, dressed like a professional with a blank expression and a clip board, sitting on a chair beside his bed. "Dennis Reynolds?"

He nodded, not making eye contact, instead staring at the wall behind her. 

"I have to ask you a few questions, is that alright?" Another nod. "Okay. Can you tell me why you're here?"

"Can't you just read the file?" He snapped, one of the first things he'd said since he'd gotten there a few hours ago. 

"Yes I can, but I want to hear it in your own words." She looked unamused, an eyebrow raised, pen pressed to paper. 

He continued refusing to look at her. "Someone thinks I'm starving myself to death, which is bullshit. I'm not dying, I'm getting in shape."

She nodded, the sound of pen on paper sounding more like nails on a chalkboard to Dennis. "Is that all?"

He groaned softly. "No. Apparently I was being violent to other kids. But they deserved it. And I didn't actually do anything. They pissed me off first."

"So, would you say that you were having homicidal thoughts?" 

"I'm not trying to kill anyone." He snapped, looking at her finally with narrowed eyes. "I was just threatening them a little."

She nodded slowly. "Okay, Dennis. Do you have any prior use of drugs or alcohol? You won't be in trouble. We need to know in case you're put on any medications and so we know what to expect in the blood tests. If you don't tell us, we will find out anyway."

Dennis huffed, waiting a few moments to respond. "Yeah. Okay? I drink and I smoke weed. That's it."

"Any history of self harm?"

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" He snapped immediately, shoulders hunching. "I'm not going to scar myself like that."

She took a few minutes to write quietly before standing up, offering him an empty smile. "That's good for now, Dennis. Thank you." 

He considered spitting at her as she walked away but decided against it. He just wanted to go home, he didn't need to get in trouble. 

After staring at the wall for a while he finally laid back on the mattress, head propped up a bit against the wall to look up at the TV. It was high on the wall, held in a protective glass case. Dennis kind of wished he could break it. There wasn't anything he could even try to break it with, though, not even a pillow. They wouldn't give him a fucking pillow. As if he'd try to kill himself with a pillow. It was ridiculous. 

He resorted to watching the infomercials on the television, reading the subtitles to try and understand what they were saying. It led to him dozing off, sliding down until his head rested flat on the mattress, slipping into an unsatisfactory sleep. He didn't dream. 

When Dennis woke up, it was to the nurse with the clipboard gently shaking him and telling him he'd have to stay overnight as they waited for the insurance to clear him to go to an actual hospital for a while. He was too drowsy to argue, too drowsy to ask why he couldn't just go home, so he just nodded and closed his eyes again, turning away from her. He was vaguely aware of her asking if he wanted to eat. He pretended he didn't hear it. 

It was impossible to tell day from night in the mental health wing of the emergency room. People came in at all different times, some getting rooms, some getting portable beds in the hall. It was cold, too, and Dennis only knew it was night because one of the nurses told him and turned off his light, giving him an extra blanket. 

The blankets were thin and white, not heavy or warm at all, and Dennis was shivering still when he slid beneath them. His stomach growled in protest of his many hours- or maybe days now- without food. He was exhausted, no energy left in his body with nothing to get it from, and he fell asleep rather quickly. 

Dennis was woken up by the dull smell of hospital food and the sound of someone shuffling around, a paper tray siting on the end of his bed with toast, an orange, and a plastic cup of juice with an aluminum peel-off lid. He sat up slowly and looked to the side of his bed where his twin sat in a chair. 

"Eat." Dee ordered. "You look like shit."

"Shut up. You look like an aluminum monster." He grumbled in response, but he did pick up the toast and take a bite. She grinned at him. 

"You know I'm not going to cry over you." She stated. He hadn't expected her to. "You didn't die, you just got tattled on. And the ambulance for the loony place is coming soon."

"Ambulance?"

"They don't want you running away." She snickered. "They think you're a danger to yourself and others." 

"Fantastic." He rolled his eyes, halfway through his toast. "Sending me to a building full of crazy fuckers is gonna make me a lot more ready to be dangerous." 

"Don't kill any retards, Dennis." Dee teased, her expression suddenly turning serious. "Mom's being a dick about all this."

Dennis's smile faded and he sighed, tossing the last bit of toast back down onto the tray. "Yeah? What's she doing?"

"Basically pretending nothing happened. Except when she sees me and tells me that I should be more like you and actually try to lose weight." Dee rolled her eyes as if she didn't care, but Dennis knew her well enough to see that she was at least a little bit bothered by it. "I can't go with you in the ambulance, but I brought a suitcase full of your clothes and stuff. The nurses have it."

He hadn't realized how tense he was until he felt his muscles relax, relieved when she said she'd brought him some of his belongings. "Thanks, Dee." 

She smiled a little bit at his genuine tone and shrugged, standing up. "It's no problem. You're welcome." She ruffled his hair, the closest she'd get to saying she loved him and was glad he was doing okay. "I'll see you later."

He nodded in agreement, cracking a small smile and waving as she walked out. A nurse walked in almost immediately after, telling him to get up and use the bathroom because the ambulance would be there for him soon. 

When he was strapped down to a bed in the ambulance that was bouncing down the highway, he realized that he'd be without his twin for at least a few days. He was never away from Dee for long. The thought on it's own made him feel sick. 

By the time they got to the hospital, he'd puked up everything he'd eaten that morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Who's that sexy news guy, it's MAc" has been stuck in my head all day. My nose is screwing me up. I'm babysitting with two big hairy dogs and sNEEZE  
> This chapter wasn't too well thought out and didn't have much time focused on it but here u go here's mac

Mac McDonald hadn't attempted suicide because he'd wanted to die. He'd attempted it knowing that he'd likely fail in hopes that it would make his parents finally care about him. 

It didn't. 

When his mom found him bleeding out in the bathtub, she'd just sighed, called the police, and gone outside to smoke another cigarette. Luther, who was actually home for once, had dragged Mac out of the bathtub, taped up the cuts sliced vertically along his arm, and brought him out to the living room to wait for the ambulance. 

Almost immediately once he arrived in the emergency room he found out that he'd be getting sent to an actual hospital for treatment. He vaguely remembered getting stitches to close his cuts and being questioned about something before passing out on the hospital bed. 

He'd just wanted his dad to pay attention to him, maybe plead for Mac not to die without being told he was loved, but no. Neither of his parents really seemed to care. The realization was like a knife through his chest and his dreams were dizzy and dark around the edges. He woke up after only a few hours feeling as if he hadn't rested at all. 

He looked down at his arm, long rows of stitches lined up along the surface. He sighed and let his head fall back against the mattress. He just wanted his parents' attention. Just wanted them to realize they had a son they'd been neglecting. But no, they didn't even bother to come with him to the hospital. 

One of the nurses befriended him, sitting on the edge of his bed to talk about his family and why he'd tried to kill himself. He didn't even stop to think that she may have been analyzing every word he said. He was just glad someone was showing concern toward him. 

"Can I see your wrist? Whichever one it was that you cut?" She asked, offering a gentle smile. He silently complied, holding out his arm, letting her softly graze her fingers along the sides of the stitches. "Pretty deep, huh? Do they hurt right now?"

Mac shrugged, choosing to look above her head instead of at her or her wrist. "It stings a little, I guess. Doesn't really hurt." 

She smiled sadly and nodded, carefully pulling her hands away. "Don't worry, Ronald. There'll be an ambulance here for you soon, okay?" She didn't speak again until he nodded in acknowledgment. "Have you been feeling suicidal since you've been here?"

"A bit." Mac mumbled, gaze flitting around the room. He didn't know what time it was and he wished he had glue or weed or booze to take the edge off the situation. "I haven't been here much, though."

"The place you're going is very nice, Ronald, and I think it will be good for you." Her tone seemed genuine. "I've heard good things about it."

"Is it, like, a crazy person mental asylum? Because I don't know if I'm up to roundhousing a bunch of insane people. Not that I can't!" He blurted out. "I'd just rather not fight with an injury."

That made the nurse laugh, although Mac didn't see why. "You won't have to fight anyone, don't worry. It's just a place for you to go where you'll be around other kids like you and adults who are well trained in how to handle these types of things." 

Mac paused for a few moments. "What do I wear there?" 

He could see the smile slowly fall from her face. "Well, whatever your parents bring... we can call them. I'll make sure it turns out alright." 

He had nothing except the hospital clothing and the outfit he'd been wearing when he got there that was now sitting in a locker somewhere in the emergency room. He didn't expect to get any more of his stuff than that. He had no friends and his parents didn't love him. He hung out behind the bleachers selling drugs to people who hated him. No one was going to visit or bring stuff for him. 

"Yeah. Thanks." He mumbled, watching her stand up to take a tray of food from another nurse. She held it out to him, forcing a smile when he sat up and placed it on his lap. It didn't look all too appetizing but he ate it anyway, finishing it off quicker than he probably should have. When he looked up from the tray, the nurse had gone. 

He got out of the bed, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room where the nurses were milling around. "Uh, can I use the bathroom?" 

Mac thought it was dumb, really dumb, that he had to ask, but they unlocked the door for him and let him in, placing a curtain over the window so he could have privacy. It wasn't like he was going to try and kill himself again, pull out the stitches or something. He just had to piss and it shouldn't have been such a big deal. 

"Shove a bunch of suicidal fuckers in a bright room and make them ask to use the bathroom." Mac muttered to himself, snickering a little. He shouldn't have even been there. He wasn't actually suicidal, there wasn't really anything wrong with him, as far as he was concerned. Sure, he knew his parents didn't give him attention, and it pissed him off. What he didn't realize was that it fucked up his emotional development, messed him up mentally, didn't know it would cause him to be stuck with a stupid bipolar disorder and a whole assortment of other issues that no one cared to put labels on. 

He took his time washing his hands, flexing each arm to make sure he still had muscles. He didn't, and he never had any in the first place, but he was content in believing that he did anyway. 

When he stepped out of the bathroom there was a stretcher waiting for him and two very serious looking people standing beside it. 

"I have legs." Mac immediately blurted out, causing one of the people to grin. 

"We know, but it's a safety precaution. Just lay down so we can secure you and get you out to the ambulance quick, okay? It's a bit of a drive to the facility you're going." 

Mac shrugged and complied, figuring it was pointless to argue. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he missed his parents and his dog as the strapped him down and wheeled him out to the vehicle, but he kept quiet. He hoped there'd be a gym wherever they were taking him. He needed to stay buff.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enjoying writing this fic but at the same time it's making me think too much abt the hospital and feel weird things

Charlie had enough psychological damage to evenly distribute amongst at least ten other people. He was raised by one person, a woman who was a hooker, and visited often by an uncle who liked to molest him. His home life was just a series of men walking through his house and night after night spent hiding under his blankets from the 'Nightman.' He started sniffing glue in the fifth grade after realizing that it made him feel different. He liked not having to think as much. 

He had no friends, just a mountain of emotional baggage and a cloud of repressed feelings and memories following him around at all times. Someone had told him that sniffing glue killed brain cells. It only made him do it more. 

It wasn't that Charlie had actually wanted to hurt anyone, but he'd been stuck in the same class for what felt like hours, completely sober, leg shaking with anxiety, and some douche had walked up to him and made some dumb comment that he couldn't even remember after. There'd been a lot of negativity building up in Charlie's mind and he finally snapped, stabbing the kid with his pencil, screaming something about how he hoped the kid died, then running out of the school and being found hours later hiding in some alleyway fighting back panic attack after panic attack. 

He tried to explain to the nurses that he didn't want to hurt anyone, but the nurses scared him and he felt tiny and vulnerable in the bright white room. He felt like a kid again, closing his eyes when his uncle was around as if it would somehow make him dissapear. They asked a lot of questions and made him change his clothes into ones that were way too big for him. He was both jittery and exhausted from a lack of sleep. He was angry and confused and when his mom got there, he couldn't hold it together anymore. 

Bonnie Kelly was a good woman at heart, but she cried as if she were the one in pain when she discovered Charlie was going to be put in an institution, even if it was only for a week or two. She hugged him so tightly that he could barely breath. He didn't mind. It gave him an excuse to hide his face in her shoulder and cry, his body trembling. He felt like a kid again, crying to his mom about things she wouldn't believe happened. Luckily, Bonnie believed Charlie when he said he didn't mean to hurt anyone.

The psychiatrist in the emergency room asked him about his violent thoughts, his panic attacks, his anxiety, and his outbursts. She asked if he hurt himself and he said no. Sure, he was slowly killing off his brain, but he wasn't gonna say that. When she asked if he drank or did any drugs, he said no. She kept asking questions and they all blurred together after a while. 

At some point he'd gone to the bathroom and tried sniffing the hand soap, almost having a panic attack at the realization that he couldn't get high or dull anything at all. He had been shaking, eyes bugging as he stared down at the soap that he'd splattered all over the counter. 

He hid under the blanket on his hospital bed for a while, ignoring the sounds of people coming and going. 

All he'd done was stab a kid with a pencil, he couldn't see why it was causing him to be shipped off somewhere. He didn't stop to think that the psychiatrist was trained to notice signs of PTSD and other disorders. She had taken note of the way he reacted to being touched, the way he spoke and how his gaze flitted nervously around the room. She could put little pieces of things he said together, making enough sense out of them to realize that, even if he didn't know it, Charlie was a huge danger to himself.

Charlie kept asking for blankets and the nurses kept bringing them. He didn't stop until he had a good sized pile. The nurses were talking quietly outside the rooms, turning off the light for his small area and placing a small room divider in the open section of the wall. Bonnie sat beside his bed all night as he hid in his pile of blankets, trying to ignore the memories racing in his head of being pinned down, held down, feeling vulnerable and helpless. 

The emergency room brought back those feelings of being a helpless child and it made Charlie feel sick. He wanted to scream, break shit, sniff some glue. Instead he stayed hidden in his blanket pile. He was tired but too scared to sleep. He ignored any food they tried to bring him. The psychiatrist came in again at some point to tell him the ambulance would be coming to get him at some point the next day. 

He didn't remember much after that. He didn't remember getting strapped down to the stretcher or brought in the ambulance, his arm or finger or maybe both hooked up to some pulse recording machine. He didn't remember what it looked like as he was brought into the mental hospital that evening, a nice lady that smelled of pine asking him and his mother questions that he didn't want to answer. There was something involving paperwork and something involving phone calls, and Charlie just wanted to go to sleep. 

He was brought into a closed off room where an unfamiliar man explained how the hospital worked, how the small carpeted hallway led to two big rooms for group therapy and free time, how the phones on the wall were only available sometimes. How he'd be getting a therapist, how he'd have a room to himself because he couldn't be trusted with a roommate. 

By the time everything was over, he collapsed onto the bed, two carefully folded blankets atop the sheets, the mattress thin but better than the one in the emergency room. He could feel tears on his cheeks as he hid under the blankets.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is (dundundundun) 
> 
> POORLY WRITTEN
> 
> The worksheet on how to avoid falling is a real thing. It was a full page on like "be careful where you walk" "don't step on ice" and shit like. Thanks?
> 
> Also, every time I use Caylee as a background character in a fic, my friend is like "y did u do self insert" but it's not mE, I'm Kaylee, Caylee is the damn Dennis system physician it's not self insert okay emily don't laugh at me
> 
> Also listen not everything is solemn as hell, me and my roommate joked around all the time.

Dennis had a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he, Golden God Dennis Reynolds, was being placed in a mental hospital with a bunch of crazy losers. He luckily got a room to himself- it was because of his tendency to threaten and manipulate others, not that he'd admit that was the reason- and a bathroom attatched to it. Sure, it was across from the nurses' desk, but it was better than having a room further down the hall that he'd have to share.

After being shown around by one of the staff members he'd gone to his room for the evening, deciding he'd rather not be forced to socialize just yet. He spent the night laying on the bed reading some book that Dee had packed for him, some collection of poetry she probably hadn't even looked at the cover of before throwing it in the suitcase. He didn't even think it was his book, but it was better than having to lie there doing nothing until he was tired enough to go to sleep.

If he was at home, he'd be sitting up in bed as Dee sat at the end of it and whined about something some annoying kid had said to her that day, and he'd laugh and call her a bird, and she'd call him a cocksucker, and somehow it would turn into him sitting beside her combing her hair to calm her down as she ranted about how much she hated their parents.

That was the worst part about being in the hospital, really, although he wouldn't admit it. Being admitted hurt his pride, but it also kept him away from his other half.

* * *

 

Mac was alone, a stupid room near the nurses station with a small bathroom inside it in the side hallway he assumed was for the kids they didn't trust to stay with others. He thought it was dumb. He would've liked to have a roommate, to make some friends, but no, he was a 'risk' and had to be alone. He spent what was probably an hour in his shower, annoying the hell out of the staff members doing their room checks at fifteen minute intervals. They had to walk into the room and knock on the bathroom door and ask if he was okay. He just wanted to take his damn shower in peace.

He was stuck putting on the same clothes he'd worn in the emergency room when he got out. There was a laundry room in the hospital, even if he did have to ask to get the room unlocked so he could use it, and the clothes he'd worn to the hospital were in there. Some dumb sleeveless shirt and jeans that were at least two sizes too big. He told himself he'd grow into them.

They'd given him some papers about the weekly schedule and some 'how to avoid falling down' sheet, as well as some worksheet where he had to check off always, never, or sometimes to a bunch of different stuff. He sat down at his desk, pen in hand, and began circling.

* * *

 

Charlie's mom had brought him a suitcase with all his clothing- he didn't have very much- and another suitcase with some of his other belongings, just to make him feel more at home. There was one of his blankets, some crayons, a notebook, and a toy train. It made him feel a little better.

He slept in his clothes from the hospital, refusing to turn off the lights and waking up every hour or so. He was cold and scared, but he was scared sleeping at home too, so it didn't mean much.

* * *

 

Dennis wasn't all too thrilled about being woken up at six in the morning so a nurse could take his vitals, and then being informed that he had to attend group therapy at eight. As if he'd be able to fall back asleep.

He did, actually, fall back asleep, even if only for an hour or so. Not eating for days on end made that easy for him to do.

He ended up showering and getting dressed before he had to go, carefully buttoning and tucking in his shirt. He didn't want to look like a slob. He wanted to show the stupid staff members that he didn't belong in some bullshit hospital. He was a smart, handsome, normal person. He wore expensive khakis and dress shirts. He styled his hair every morning. He enriched his shampoo with vitamins and had a skin care routine that he went through every single night. He wasn't like the other people there.

The point he was trying to make to himself was proven when he tried to step into his room and was ran into by a shorter boy with messy hair and wide, wild green eyes who smelled like cat food.

"Sorry." The kid mumbled, looking anywhere except at Dennis's face. "I gotta get to group. I- I'm, uh, I'm new. I'm Charlie."

Dennis raised an eyebrow as Charlie forced a smile and looked up at him. "I'm Dennis. Watch where you're going. I'll walk with you." He spoke as if he'd been there longer, and he didn't regret it when he saw the relieved look on Charlie's face.

The room where group therapy was held was a good size, small couches lined up in a circle. There were already a few people there, one boy and three girls. Dennis chose a seat next to one of the girls, only to be told he 'had to sit on the boys' side of the circle' by one of the staff. He huffed but didn't argue, going to sit next to the other boy there at the time. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt as if it wasn't the middle of winter, and under any other circumstances, Dennis would've laughed at him.

"Hey."

Dennis suddenly snapped out of his thoughts, realizing he'd been staring. The boy grinned at him.

"I'm Mac. You're new."

"You're new too, Mac. You've only been here one day more than them." One of the girls across the circle snickered, earning a dirty look from the staff member.

"I'm Dennis." Dennis replied, looking away. "I got here last night."

"So did I." Charlie blurted out. "I'm Charlie."

Dennis leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he waited for the rest of the people to show up. He was exhausted. Charlie and Mac seemed to really be hitting off, he had to block out their loud conversation about fucking crows. He was just starting to doze off successfully when the staff member began to talk.

"Good morning everyone. For those of you who are new, my name is Jeremy." He stood up, smiling at them. "Normally we don't have so many new people coming in on the same day, but we have five new people here. You should all have clipboards with your DBT sheets." He frowned a little when he saw that a handful of them didn't have papers or a clipboard. "They're at the front of the room. Please go get them if you have not. The papers should have your name on top of them."

Dennis and Charlie both went up to find theirs as Jeremy walked to the chalkboard on the wall, writing the new names in the empty chalk boxes drawn there.

"You each have a list of tasks on your sheets, do you see them?" Jeremy paused, waiting for them all to nod. "Good. Each day you will choose one, write down the goal at the bottom, and read it out loud. You will also choose a number from the list at the top. Those are all worksheets titles. You'll tell us your number when we go around the room, and we can write it on the board."

Dennis thought that was way to complicated. He looked down at the papers on his clipboard, narrowing his eyes as he read down the list. All the goals were bullshit like 'eat three full meals' or 'talk to your parents about your struggles,' as if Dennis wanted to or would actually do any of those things.

They all had a few minutes to go over it and choose before Jeremy pointed to the first girl at the top of the circle. "Ruby?"

A pretty girl looked up from her clipboard, gaze flitting from the board back down to her paper. "I'm Ruby. Today, I will discuss my triggers with my family during visiting hours. I'm doing DBT number- uhm- number four."

Jeremy wrote the number beneath her name, smiling and nodding to the girl next to her.

Dennis looked at the girl and flat out stared. She was gorgeous. "Caylee." She spoke, a slight flush on her cheeks. "I'm new. Today I will make a small list of things to look forward to in my future, and my task is number six."

It went through the girls, mostly the same type of thing for all of them, before reaching Mac. Mac liked taking the easy way out, and therefor chose what looked the simplest. "Today I will write a list of positive things about myself. I'm doing task two." Mac could think up a ton of great things about himself right then and there. He was buff, strong, and badass.

Charlie looked back and forth from Mac, to Jeremy, to the board, and then down at his paper. "I'm Charlie and today I will talk to my mom about things that make me ankle- angry- anxious? Anxious. I'm doing task one."

Dennis snickered as Charlie stumbled over his words but quickly shut up when no one else reacted. Jeremy raised his eyebrows and nodded to him, prompting him to speak. "Today I will choose one of my insecurities to confront." Dennis read, monotone and lazy. "I'll do task three."

Dennis doodled aimlessly in the margins of his paper as they went around the rest of the room, blocking out the stream of stupid tasks. As if he had insecurities. Sure, his face had been getting kind of fat, but he was fixing it. He reached up to feel his cheeks as he thought about it. Still too fat, but nothing that a few skipped meals wouldn't fix.

* * *

 

Mac and Charlie were like best friends from the second they started talking. They both liked crows, they both sniffed glue, and they both were missing father figures. When they got free time after the morning DBT bullshit, they went into the boy's common room. Dennis had gone back to his room alone, but Mac stayed with Charlie.

"Wait, man, you know karate?" Charlie looked amazed, staring up at Mac in admiration.

"Oh yeah. I do backflips every single day." Mac nodded, smirking. "I'm a black belt."

"I'm good at killing the rats in my mom's basement." Charlie grinned, cheeks flushed with excitement. "Sometimes they build nests down there, and they get really noisy at night."

Mac laughed, tipping his head back. "My mom just smokes all the time, and my dog is kinda like a rat. He eats trash. Sometimes he disappears for a while, but he always comes back."

"I like cats." Charlie stated, making it sound as if he was making a very important declaration. "I am a cat atheist."

"A... a cat atheist?" Mac frowned. "So you don't believe in cats?"

"No! Cats make me excited. I'm a- uh- a cat-"

"Enthusiastic?" Mac offered.

Charlie nodded quickly, eyes wide. "Yeah! Cat enthusiast!"

"Pussy enthusiast." Mac joked, quiet so the staff wouldn't hear. Just because he was in the hospital didn't mean he wanted to be dead serious all the time.

Charlie made a noise akin to a squeak and then burst out laughing, smile stretching wide on his face. "Yeah. That's me."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My roommate and I actually did the knocking thing and never got caught or in trouble by or with the staff for it. It was ridiculously fun

"Is that just a plate of lettuce?"

Mac was leaning over the table, uncomfortably close to Dennis as he examined his tray, a plain brown tray holding a single white plate covered in, well, lettuce. He had a small cup of water as well and was stabbing at the watery leaves with his fork, trying to ignore Mac.

"The food is shit." Dennis murmured finally, sick of Mac staring at him.

Charlie's voice was shrill and impossible to ignore. "Really? I think it's really good."

Mac turned his attention to the plate of the boy sitting next to him as opposed to Dennis's. "Charlie, holy shit, you- why did you but peanut butter on your grilled cheese?"

Charlie grinned sheepishly, a clump of peanut butter stuck between his front teeth. "Trying to make a grilled Charlie. I make 'em on the radiator in my room when my mom isn't around."

"The radiator?" Dennis looked up from his lettuce. "How do you cook on the radiator?"

He regretted the question as soon as he saw Charlie's face light up. "You crank up the heat and put on some bread, 'cept the cheese should be on the outside, and the peanut butter should be on top of the cheese on the outside. They didn't have chocolate syrup or extra butter, either, but you're supposed to put that inside the bread. And bam! Grilled Charlie."

Dennis felt nauseated just hearing about it. "That's-"

"Awesome!" Mac interrupted, his droopy green eyes widening as he looked at Charlie. "I just eat Mac and cheese."

"You have grilled cheese on your plate." Dennis pointed out.

"That's what they were serving! I can't make my famous Mac and cheese here!"

"Mac and ch- oh!" Charlie nearly jumped out of his chair before his expression slowly twisted into one of confusion. "You cover yourself in cheese? Like a cheese bath?"

"No, Charlie." Dennis sighed, speaking before Mac had the chance to. "It's just noodles with cheese. It's not Mac covered in cheese. Just like a grilled Charlie isn't you being put on a grill."

Mac snickered, turning back to look at Dennis. "Are you gonna eat your leaves, or are you just stabbing them with your fork?"

"None of your business." Dennis snapped, looking down when one of the staff looked over to see what was going on. "I'm not hungry."

Mac shrugged, biting into his grilled cheese. Dennis wasn't aware that someone could be so sloppy just biting into some bread. Crumbs were getting stuck to Mac's beard. It was better than Charlie, though, who had peanut butter smeared down his chin, clumped in his stubble and dribbled onto his shirt. It was gross, and even if Dennis was hungry, he'd have lost his appetite. He raised his hand, getting up to dump his tray when one of the staff members nodded in approval to him. He threw out the soggy, stab hole-ridden lettuce, placing his plate and tray atop the trash can.

"Dennis, you need to eat."

When he turned to see the source of the soft voice, he came face to face with one of the female staff members, dark curls reaching down to her shoulders, lips painted a soft pink and blue eyes rimmed with dark lashes. He noted that she had a very nice physical form- always a plus. He would totally bang her.

"Yeah? I probably should, but I only eat in private." He lied, shrugging and sighing dramatically. "And then I don't like being seen bringing food to my room. It's the anxiety, you know?"

She nodded sympathetically, offering a smile. "It's okay, that's not unusual. We could put some food in a takeout container for you to bring?"

"Oh no, then people would know I had food." Dennis lifted his hand to his heart. "Even thinking of it makes me feel a bit sick."

"I could bring it to you." She offered. Sure, it was her job, but he took it as flirtation. Of course, Dennis Reynold's charm wasn't going to dissapear just because he was in some stupid hospital. He smiled and nodded.

"That sounds good, thank you." He winked, walking away before he could see her confused reaction. He grinned when he sat back at the table, getting Mac and Charlie's attention. "Did you see that chick I was just talking to?"

"Uh... no?" Mac looked up from his tray. "Dude, Charlie and I were talking."

Dennis huffed. "Well, whatever. I'm gonna bang her."

Charlie gasped so loudly it was nearly comical. "You can't have sex here! It's against the rules, dude! No sex!"

"No one is gonna know, Charlie, as long as you quiet the fuck down." Dennis lowered his voice, glancing to the other for boys sitting a few seats away. They'd all been there before Mac, Dennis, and Charlie. They were friendly, but the trio didn't sit next to them anyway.

Mac glanced around before leaning in. "Dennis, wouldn't that be, like, illegal?"

Dennis scoffed, rolling his eyes. "So? She can't be more than twenty five, she's hot, and she's not gonna tell on me. She wants me, dude. She offered to come to my room."

"Woah." Charlie whispered, mouth stuffed full with something Dennis couldn't even identify anymore. "Dude."

Dennis leaned back with a smug grin. "What can I say? I'm always good with the chicks. I get laid, like, all the time, dude. I'm not gonna stop just because these psychiatry bozos decided I needed to be put here when I don't."

Mac sat back, raising his hand. He kept talking as he waited for permission to get up. "Well, I wouldn't do that here. It's gonna get you in trouble, dude. That's all I'm saying." He got up, leaving Dennis and Charlie at the table, the latter trying to clean the peanut butter off his shirt with a dirty napkin.

"I don't even think she's that hot." Charlie spoke, voice muffled by the way his chin was angled.

"What? Of course she is. Did you see her ass?"

"I dunno, man. I think that one blonde girl is kinda cute. Y'know, the short curly hair?" Charlie shrugged, giving up on the stain and raising his hand. "But we're not here to get laid or anything, 'cause we're here to get better." He got up, walking to the trash before Dennis could reply.

To get better. Dennis scoffed, shaking his head. There was nothing wrong with him. Maybe those two idiots had issues, but he sure didn't. He didn't belong at some institution where he had to ask to cross the street on the way to the dining hall.

* * *

 

Charlie was bored out of his damn mind. He'd already spent an hour doodling in his notebook and trying to get high off sniffing a pen, and it wasn't working. He sat on his bed cross-legged, absentmindedly knocking 'shave and haircut' on the wall. _Knock knock-knock-knock knock._

He was surprised yet delighted when he heard a _knock knock_ back, finishing the tune, so he did it again, just as excited when he heard the response again. He wasn't sure who was on the other side of the wall- probably Mac or Dennis, actually- and it made it even more exciting. Like a secret code, a secret communication system, even if it was just a childhood tune being knocked out on the wall.

Mac was on the other side of the wall. His bed was across the room, his desk was on the side of the wall that separated his room from Charlie's. He ran back from the bed to the wall, figuring it was cheap fun and a workout all in one. He didn't know what the time was, but he recognized it and knew to knock twice each time. It was better than lying in bed staring blankly at the ceiling. He knew it was either Charlie or Dennis on the other side, and he was pretty sure it was Charlie.

It became a sort of game that night, wait for the knocks then knock back, see if they could knock in the same spot on the wall, see how fast or slow they could knock without messing up the other person.

It was silly, but it was better than the silence with dull gray light shining in the windows that they would've had without it. It was better than staying up all night lonely. Neither of them could fall asleep, until it was two in the morning and Charlie fell asleep with his cheek pressed against the wall.


End file.
